Stained Glass
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: A simple NCIS story based on our favorite two characters, Tony and Ziva, but also the dynamics of the team and cases/problems they'll have to face. Enjoy!
1. Not The FallingFor Type

**Not The Falling-For Type**

**A/N - This is my first fanfic on this site so I hope you'll like it. It's based mainly on Tony and Ziva, though it may or may not turn into a Tiva fanfic. We will get a bit of Tiva though, and maybe McAbby if it's popular demand. Reviews are loved. Anyway.. enjoy!**

Light filtered through a lone window, illuminating the brilliant orange walls that were familiar to the NCIS family. Only the wall of wanted men shone silver, though dull; beside it, bordered by the native color of the walls, an elevator remained the only other silver object. It had obviously been polished recently, its sides and firmly shut door gleaming.

Special Agent Gibbs wouldn't have it any other way.

Members of the NCIS team had long since learned that this was Gibbs's private office, as he had no "real" one, rather a desk facing his small crew. His name was echoed around the building on a daily basis. Probies, newbies, and old friends alike looked upon him with a kind of respect shadowed by slight fear. Fear for the reputation that this man had.

This morning, however, Gibbs was not in office yet. Only the familiar face of one of "his" girls sat at her desk, pretending to be busy. Rather, she was anxious to get started with work. Thee was no case waiting for them to crack. That meant paperwork, even more since the prime suspect in their last case had committed death by cop. What complicated matters was that it had not been one of Gibbs's people - a trigger-happy FBI rookie had the final verdict on whether the man should live or not. Paperwork meant boredom. Paperwork meant getting started sooner would end it sooner.

So there she sat, eyes scanning every surface of her co-workers' desks in turn. Gibbs's desk. Decorated by files tossed aside, a trash can filled with coffee cups, and the computer. Tony's desk caught her eye next. The computer, obviously still on as he'd left it last day, was nothing more than ordinary. Nothing was out of place for this scene. Even McGee's desk was pristine and polished as it always was.

Ziva smiled, looking at her own desk. It had the look of the aftermath of a tornado. Boxes piled behind her chair with files not yet organized, a lone bookshelf with not a file nor book to its name, an unused package of sticky-notes stuck on her wall (by Tony, of course) and her barely touched computer. It wasn't bad for two weeks as a "Special Agent," but definitely not good for over a month as "waiting to be accepted for Mossad Liaison," "visitor assigned to the case," or "waiting to be accepted as a Special Agent."

The familiar ding of the elevator sounded, disrupting her thoughts. It wasn't that she minded. The past few months had definitely been trying, and there was still much she had to rebuild. **Trust**. The word that caused her to bite her lip upon hearing. "Can I **trust** you, Ziva?" "Don't you** trust** me?" She shut her eyes to block out the thoughts. _Of course you can,_ she thought sadly, _you're my family._

"Morning, Ziva!" McGee nodded to his co-worker and friend as he made his way across the squad room. He dropped his black backpack - it landed with a loud thump - beside his desk and dropped into the chair that stood waiting for him. He looked almost exhausted - lines and shadows under his eyes evident. Obviously, he'd gotten as much sleep as she had.

"Hey, Probies!" Tony's voice now. The smile on his face was definitely something for a man who worked his hours, particularly for a man of his nature to be cheery about being up as early as he was. He stopped and turned on the ball of his foot to study the others' faces.

"Great, a cheery Tony," Ziva mumbled, rolling his eyes at him calling her Probie.

"Well there's either two reasons you're happy," McGee pointed out, leaning forward to stare his colleague in the eye. "One, you're falling for some random girl you met in a bar. Two, she's falling for you, but you have commitment issues, so you're not falling for her."

Ziva had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing at this. As true as McGee's words were, it would be even more humorous to see her partner's reaction. If, of course, he did not go for her first. Only that thought kept her quiet as she watched the thousands of different emotions flash across Tony's face in a heartbeat. Finally, he spoke.

"Thanks," he began sarcastically, "but I'm not the falling-for type."

"Really, DiNozzo? I never would have guessed!" Gibbs rolled his eyes at his most experienced agent. He easily covered a small smile at the look on Tony's face by sipping the hot cup of coffee that had been burning his hand. Finally, he put it down on the desk and stared from agent to agent. "You might not be the falling-for type, but our next murder victim is."

The team, with the exception of Gibbs, stared at each other with a kind of sick relief. The realization had already dawned on them - they could each put off paperwork for at least the day. "Oh, the joys of field work!" Tony declared optimistically, and catching the car keys Gibbs had tossed with flourish. "Let's go, Probies!"

It didn't seem to take long to drive to the other side of the Navy Yard. It might have been faster if Ziva had driven, but, fearing for his life and sanity, Tony had insisted. Gravel crunched under the wheels of the black NCIS sedan as it pulled to a jerky stop. The keys were quickly removed from the lodge, and gear gathered (by none other than the Probies). Gibbs was already on the scene, carefully examining the broken body of a male petty officers.

"Dog tags identify him as petty officer Adam Miller," the boss announced upon his team's arrival. "McGee, bag and tag anything in the area. Tony, interview any possible witnesses. Ziva… you're with me."

The newest Special Agent looked ready to ask where they were going, but thought better of it. She flashed a groaning Tony a smile as she followed Gibbs, waving to him behind her back.

Tony just stared after her. Finally, as she disappeared into the warehouse that the victim had been speculated to have been pushed, he turned to McGee. For seconds, he just stood, watching his Probie go about picking up anything in the area with any blood, possible DNA, or link to the case. "I hate interviews," he grumbled, turning on his left foot to survey the area. The only building in sight was a small, run-down apartment. What fun.

He gingerly stepped over a rotted wooden fence wrapped in rusted barb wires. The grass on the other side was anything but safe - it looked like the yard belonged in a mine field, not a Navy Yard! He carefully dodged bits of scrap metal and children's' toys without heads; laundry mats, sweaters, caps, and smashed pumpkins. Either someone hadn't been here in a while, or they were as bad at cleaning up as he was!

Hesitation. He hesitated to knock on the door with the hand that wasn't on his hip, on his gun. A shiver passed through his body, chilling him to the bone. It was almost a fear. Fear of what was behind the door. But he was a Special Agent with a kick-ass Mossad agent, Gibbs, and his McGeek to look after him. He squared his shoulders, put on the classic million-dollar smile, and rapped loudly on the door. Once, twice, three times. Not a whisper came from inside the apartment.

It was probably empty, he reasoned. No apartment could be left in this state on a Naval base unless there was no one there to care for it. There was no apparent sign of a struggle, no blood on the steps, no smashed windows, and certainly no dead bodies. Except for the dirt, atrocious yard and broken, rusted fence, the place seemed in pristine condition. Tony raised his shirt cuff to his face and spoke quietly into it, "There's no one here, Boss. No sign of a struggle."

"Leave it DiNozzo. We'll get a warrant. Go help McGee." Tony was surprised at Gibbs's suggestion of obtaining a warrant. That didn't sound like his boss at all, but he obliged.

Now that he knew the ground, it took less time to go over the fallen trees, rusted metal, various toys, generally dirty and dead grass, and the fence. Once he had finally cleared the obstacles, he took off at a pace in between a jog and a run. Reaching the edge of the grass, he slid to a stop beside McGee. "What've we got, Probie WanKanobi?"

"Well, we.." McGee looked rather flustered for a few seconds, confusion flashing in his eyes every few moments. "Well, we, we have nothing Tony. A dead marine, Gibbs and Ziva on the roof of the warehouse, and a bloody shoe. Otherwise, we've nothing, at least until Ducky's here."

Inside the warehouse, Ziva and Gibbs went over every inch of where the crime seemed to have taken place. It looked like a suicide, but, as had been mentioned before, NCIS didn't investigate suicides. Every suicide was a homicide until proven otherwise, and therefore they treated it like any other case. There were obvious signs of a struggle on the roof. Blood splatter, the tip of a clean knife, a ripped glove. The usual, Ziva thought with a sick smile.

Gibbs seemed much more interested in how the victim managed to fall unseen than the rest of the roof. It would be his team's job to check over everything. He was team lead - the father figure, rule enforcer, almighty and consequentially the occasional guiding light. All he waited for at the moment was the arrival of his faithful medical examiner and the autopsy gremlin. They always get lost, he thought with a bemused expression, Duck should really drive the van himself.

"Ziva," Gibbs contemplated aloud, "it's possible that the victim knew the attacker. They could have been standing, talking. Somehow, our dead petty officer was convinced to stand on the edge and then pushed."

"Maybe it was a trust fall gone wrong!" Ziva took a stab at American humor. It took so much to make Gibbs smile, but it was worth it. If Tony had been there, he would have definitely cracked up - that she was sure of - but her boss was not Tony.

"Maybe you've been spending too much time around DiNozzo. McGee might be your better partner," Gibbs suggested lightly. "We need to find a way that the attacker could have gotten up here unseen. Of course, this being a warehouse, there are going to be many ways. We can rule out the main entrance to the roof."

"Why? There is a possibility that anyone could have slipped past the basic security and up the stairwell."

"Anyone coming up those stairs would have been caught on camera. This doesn't look like an amateur job to me, Special Agent David. Professionals do not let themselves be seen.

"The attacker could have come from here, Gibbs!" Ziva yelled over the soft wind, pointing to a small door. "This door could lead to millions of places within the warehouse! The killer would just have to go up unseen, stab the man to death, push him, and leave."

"Who said he ever left?" A voice hissed from the shadows. The muzzle of a gun appeared from behind the door, and, before she had any time to react, a shot rang out.

She felt herself flying, but she felt no pain until she landed and her leg smashed into the ground. White hot, searing pain shot up and down her body, seeming to focus around her knee. Despite her injuries, she drew her gun and shot a round that tore through the door and probably missed the attacker that was almost certain to be gone by now.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs almost whispered into the cuff of his sleeve, "Bring the sedan up front. You need to take Ziva to Bethesda."

"Why? What's wrong?" His question went unanswered.


	2. You Didn't Tell Me?

**You Didn't Tell Me?**

**A/N: Thanks for the good first few reviews. :) You should enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! There's a bit of everyone except the personality-lacking Director Vance in this chapter. Reviews, suggestions, critisms and critiques are still loved. Enjoy!**

"Gibbs! _Gibbs_!" Tony nearly screamed into the hidden microphone. His eyes flashed with uncontrollable, unidentifiable emotions - too many at once, gone too fast - as he digested the information. _Bring the sedan up front. You need to take Ziva to Bethesda._

His breath caught in his throat as once again he received no answer. The shots had probably been heard for at least half a mile around. Two rounds. One, probably the attacker's. Two, hopefully Ziva's. He forced himself to stop shaking and trembling. Somehow, he'd managed to live through Kate's death. Paula's untimely end had been harder to cope with. Ziva… it would be like losing part of himself.

She was his rock, his partner. She was there for him when he needed it and there to shoot him down if he sailed too high too fast. _Bring the sedan up front._ Tony slid the keys into the ignition and pressed his foot down hard on the brake, barely paying attention to where he was going. It was obvious that his mind was clouded, far away, for he almost hit a pillar connected to the warehouse.

Then he saw her.

Ziva wasn't walking. She wasn't running at him with a big grin to say, _gotcha, Tony._ Her body was stretched across Gibbs's arms, obviously fighting to get down, but by the way her leg hung limply from her body, it was obvious she couldn't walk if she tried. A bullet to the leg was better than a bullet to the head, he reasoned, but no bullet taken would have been better. If he'd been there, there was no doubt in his mind that he would protect her.

The blood on her clothes almost made him throw up. Her entire jeans were soaked in blood - as was Gibbs's arm that supported the leg. Tony forced himself to get out of the car, keep his panic inside, and open the door for his boss to lay his partner down across the back seat. "What happened, boss?" he just managed to choke out.

Again, Gibbs ignored this question. His eyes closed for a second before he leaned forward to reassuringly kiss Ziva's cheek, whispering words for only her ears. Slowly, painfully slowly, he turned back to his senior field agent. "DiNozzo, just get her to Bethesda. I'll have to stay here 'til Ducky gets our petty officer home."

Tony looked ready to say 'no,' to ask the questions he wanted, but he knew that if Ziva wanted to save her leg they needed to get to Bethesda. Fast. He nodded and proceeded to run to the driver's side without another word. He didn't bother to buckle his seatbelt, just hit the gas and roared off. "Ziva?" he whispered, trying to sound reassuring, "you'll be fine."

"It's just a shot, Tony," Ziva pointed out between winces of pain. "You sound like you need more reassurance than I do. It'll be okay, Tony."

The gentleness in her voice startled him, but it was punctuated with gasps of pain that she tried to hide. In response, he pushed the car harder, dodging traffic and sailing through stoplights. Finally, an "H" for "Hospital" sign appeared around the bend. He could stop panicking so much now. Bethesda was right around the corner. Ziva would be fine.

***

Gibbs waited impatiently for Ducky to arrive at the scene… Palmer may have bad navigational skills, but usually it didn't take this long to get from NCIS to the other side of the Navy Yard. The distinctive crunch of gravel alerted him to the presence of what he wanted to see before he actually saw it. "Duck!" he yelled as the NCIS autopsy van pulled to a stop in front of him.

The old man nodded to his friend, raised a hand to his assistant, and stepped carefully out of the van. He smiled his usual smile, but today things were different He could see the lingering thought in Gibbs's eyes, but knew better than to press yet. Something was wrong. If Gibbs didn't tell him soon, McGee would. They weren't a team, but a family - and, in a regular family fashion, if one did not crack, another would. "Who do we have here, Gibbs?"

"Petty officer Adam Miller," the boss waved his hand to lead the elderly medical examiner to the dead man's remains. "Witnesses say he fell off that roof about two hours ago. You're late, Duck, tell me what you know so I can get evidence to Abs."

"Ahh, perhaps a suicide? No, but we do not investigate suicides. You believe he was pushed.." Ducky didn't need an answer. "Tell me, what is that look in your eyes? Where's Tony? Where's Ziva?"

Gibbs's eyes closed and he opened his mouth to reply when Palmer reappeared with the gurney for the dead man. "Well, he's sure a pushover!" he announced.

"Ah, Mr. Palmer--"

"Inappropriate. Sorry, doctor," the younger man replied, his face bright red. "I-I'll.. Just.. Get some evidence jars…"

"What do you know, Duck?" Gibbs repeated his demand, choosing to dodge the question for now.

"Well…" Doctor Mallard pulled the liver probe from the victim's body and examined it. "I'd say his time of death was about four hours ago. Didn't you say he was pushed two hours ago?" At Gibbs's nod, he went on, "Something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes, Jethro. Where is Tony and Ziva? I'm sorry I'm late, but I expect you--"

"Bethesda." Gibbs nodded, as if agreeing to himself, and ran a hand through his own silver hair. "Ziva's been shot, Duck. I sent DiNozzo to take her to Bethesda so that McGee and I could wait for you."

"She's not--"

"No, she'll live. A shot to the leg, not to the chest. It may have shattered her leg, we'll have to see. She won't be doing much field work for a while, I can tell you that." Gibbs turned away from his co-workers to answer his loudly ringing cell phone. _It should be Tony,_ he reasoned, but the called ID told him differently.

His breath hitched at the number that flashed across the screen. There was no time to think differently, it was time to react. He flipped open the phone and began the irritating conversation, the rage in his voice growing as he went on. "Special Agent Gibbs. What can I do for you, Director David?"

"You could return my daughter!" a cold voice told him stiffly on the other end of the phone.

"Did I not make it clear that she's off limits?"

"Of course, but she is a citizen of Isreal, my daughter, and a Mossad agent."

"She resigned."

"I did not accept the resignation!"

"You didn't have to." Gibbs glared at the phone, knowing that the revolting man he was talking to would probably guess his thoughts. His voice was cold, touched with the flame of fury. Ziva was not only one of his agents, she was one of his girls. He had to protect her with his life. Without another word, Gibbs shut the phone and turned to face the medical examiner.

"Jethro, she'll be alright. Eli can't touch her." Ducky nodded to himself. "Mr. Palmer and I will escort our dead petty officer back to autopsy. I'll call if you need anything."

Lost in thought, Gibbs stared at the retreating silhouette of the autopsy van against the horizon. Finally, as it blended in with Navy traffic and was lost from his sight, he turned to the man hunched over beside him. "McGee," he identified the man correctly and gave him the classic glare. "Why are you still here? Abby will need you help. Go!"

"On it, boss!" McGee looked terrified and confused for a brief moment before taking off to pick up the gear.

"What am I going to do with those three?" Gibbs asked himself absentmindedly. "My kick-ass girl Ziva's been shot. My juvenile senior field agent's panicked. My Probie has no idea where he is…"

***

"Hey, Abs! I've got a present for you." McGee's voice echoed through the packed lab as he entered, his arms full of evidence. He had a strange smile on his face. It looked like he wanted to genuinely grin at and laugh with his approaching female co-worker, but a lingering thought held him back.

"For me?" Abby asked, her voice full of fake-shock. She took the bin of evidence straight from unsteady hands and began to sort through everything. Pictures, blood samples, a gleaming knife, garbage… Her face fell dramatically. "Is this _it? _Well, I suppose I'll have to do what I can. I'll test this blood sample first and while that's running I can play with blood splatters."

"Anything I can help with?" McGee stumbled over his words. "I mean, well, of course I can, but is there anything, you know, specific I can do?"

"What is _with _you today, Timmy?" Abby asked him, serious for only half a second. Her voice still flowed in its playful nature.

"Just worried." He replied, his voice barely audible. His eyes were only on the floor, except for his occasional glances at Abby's face.

"Why? Are you worried about catching the killer guy? We always do, so they're nothing to be afraid of! Come on, come help me!" she tugged at his arm and pulled him to the computer.

Her words put a small, hopeful smile on his face. He reached for the second computer propped up on her desk, but stopped before his fingers grazed the keyboard. "Abs, it's not that. Ziva's been shot, and I wasn't there--"

"Wait, Ziva was shot?!" Instant panic flared in the dark scientist's eyes. "You didn't tell me? I can't--"

"It's okay, Abby!" McGee told her in a strained voice. "She just got shot in the leg. Gibbs sent Tony with her to the hospital."

Abby pulled her friend into a reassuring hug, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She grabbed Bert to make it a three-way hug; one arm around McGee, one arm around her faithful hippo companion. Ziva should be here, part of the hug, but it would have been a hug of relief then. Relief that her friend wasn't dead. As Abby let go, her phone began to ring. She immediately grabbed it up, flipped it open, and cried, "Hello? Tony?"

"Hey, Abs. You okay? McGee did tell you, didn't he?" Tony's voice was cracked at the other end of the connection. She wasn't sure if it was bad cell phone service, or if his actual voice was cracking up.

"Yeah. How's Ziva? How're you?"

"I'm fine, Abby, Ziva's fine. Okay, she's not perfect. She's under the knife Abs, in surgery. She shattered part of her bone pretty bad."

"At least she's not _dead,_" Abby pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad. I've already lost Kate and Paula. We don't need to lose Ziva, especially so soon after rescuing her from that bastard Salim."

***

Tony flipped his phone closed and stuffed it into his pocket haphazardly. His green eyes were spiked with worry, but he made sure to close them so no one would see. His head fell into his hands. The usually smiling face was twisted with worry. _At least she's not dead, _he reminded himself of Abby's words, _you're supposed to take care of your partner and look what happened! I should be with her right now… I should have been with her then, I'd take a bullet for her like Kate took for Gibbs. Ziva's irreplaceable. I got over the death of Kate, and Paula, the loss of Jeanne, and the pain of thinking Ziva dead. Can I handle her **really** being dead?_

"DiNozzo!" a harsh voice interrupted his thoughts. He braced himself for the slap he knew would be coming, ready for the pain. Instead, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and the anger faded from Gibbs's voice. "Why are you still here? Abby told me you called. Ziva's in surgery Tony, you can't do anything here."

"Yes, boss," Tony nodded, barely noticing what he was saying. "There's nothing for me to do in the squad room right now anyway. Abs and McGee have the evidence, Duck's got the bodies. I've got the responsibility of watching Ziva's condition, and you're busy being the boss. What else do you want? There's nothing for me to do in the squad room!"

Gibbs resisted the urge to slap his most experienced member of the team and calmly said, "Sure there is. You can catch the man who shot your partner."

Tony's eyes lit up in realization. "On your six, boss!"


	3. Say It, Probie!

**A/N: Another fun chapter to write. I had an amazing idea with Tony that will definitely play out in one of the next few chapters, inspired by part of the song "Beside You" by Mariana's Trench. Until then I can only tease you by posting the part of the song (which I don't own) that hints what will happen to Tony after Ziva's out of the hospital.**

"_**And your tired eyes refuse to close**_

_**And sleep in your defense"**_

**What do you think I'm keeping from you? Feel free to guess! Anyway, reviews are loved as always. I don't own anything except the computer used to write this, the fingers used to type, and the NCIS season 3 DVD.**

Tony tried to keep his attention on following his boss out of the building. He veered off towards the sedan that was covered in Ziva's blood, but Gibbs blocked him, turned him around, and forced him into the passenger seat of the other sedan. The one that his boss had taken to come see him. The senior field agent forced a smile on his face, pulled the seat belt down, and whispered, "Ziva's my ninja, and a fighter. She'll be perfectly fine."

The drive was perfectly quiet; Gibbs concentrated on the road, and Tony stared out one window, wishing he could have stayed with his partner. Colors blurred together at the speed they were going. Reds smashed into blues, grays swirled with whites, and yellows collided with purples. So many colors for a simple Navy Yard. By now, the sun was setting on the horizon. Ziva had been under the knife for many hours. The team's - no, her family's - shared anxiety built a bridge between them, bringing them closer and yet pushing them so far away.

When the sedan pulled peacefully into the NCIS parking lot, it was hard to resist the urge to attempt to fly out of the car. His boss's words were the only things keeping Tony from rushing into action. He had to find the man who killed petty officer Adam Miller. More importantly, he had to find the man that shot Ziva. If they were lucky, it was one and the same person. That would make for an easy catch with minimal paperwork.

Featuring careful patience, Tony took his time to walk up the stairs. Gibbs had, of course, taken the elevator, but it would help clear his head to walk. If he talked to McGee too soon, something bad might happen. Something he couldn't fix.

It didn't seem to take that long to get to the top of the stairs. He would have liked it to take longer, so he could distance himself from work, but at least his boss wasn't waiting for him in the squad room. The only person present, besides himself, when Tony arrived at his desk, was McGee, whose fingers were going a mile per hour on the keyboard. At the sight of his colleague, the younger agent stood up, and they met in the middle of the room.

"McGee." Tony took careful time to keep his voice steady. "What do we have?" _Besides my partner lying on a slab in the hospital, being dissected like Ducky dissects his dead bodies in autopsy._

"Petty officer Adam Miller, Tony." McGee nodded to himself. "Ducky says he was dead two hours before he fell off the roof. We've got that mystery."

"And?" the senior field agent begged for more details. "Anything else?" _Tell me I didn't leave Ziva for nothing._

"The surveillance cameras at the warehouse show Ziva getting shot - and her flying - but not the attacker. Hey, Tony, are you wish me here?" McGee waved his hand in front of Tony's face, and continued. "We traced Miller's phone calls for the last month, he's gotten five from one source and apparently placed a report against a guy for phone harassment."

"You're telling me we have nothing." _If we have nothing, I shouldn't be here. I could take a laptop and keep my eye on her._

"No, Tony, I didn't say--"

"Damnit McGee! We have NOTHING. No surveillance, no evidence. Nothing! Say it, Probie! I should have been there! Say it! I screwed up! We. Have. NOTHING!" Tony's voice broke into a scream. He didn't care that all eyes had turned on him, every person was eagerly watching him scream at his co-worker and friend. Without another word, he stalked off, eyes smoldering.

"Tony--"

"Fix it." A low, angry voice broke McGee's thoughts. Steely-eyed Gibbs stood glaring at him. "I've heard enough. Find him. Fix it!"

***

Ducky carefully examined a sliver of wood he had pulled from one of the victims. It had recently been placed in an evidence jar by the bouncing forensic scientist standing beside him. Both waited in surprisingly quiet anticipation for the arrival of the boss. Finally, the autopsy doors slid open to reveal the silver-haired investigator they had wanted.

"Ah, Jethro!" Ducky greeted him as he always did. "Abby and I have quite a puzzle for you. We may have figured out how the man got onto the roof!"

"And how he fell off," Abby added with a grin that a three-year-old couldn't beat. "Well, obviously he was pushed, but I mean--"

"Abby!" Gibbs snapped before he realized he was much more irritable than usual. "Just tell me what we have."

The medical examiner held up his evidence jar with the lonely splinter and proceeded to pass it to Gibbs. He gave a small smile with his careful words. "Slivers, Jethro. Mr. Palmer and I pulled them from one petty officer Adam Miller's backside… and back. Skin is torn in places. He was dragged."

"We also found a strange hole in his back!" Abby cut in before either man could take a breath. "It's possible that he was propped with a stick or something to make it look like he was standing, and then fell. But the wood was too loose to stay on, so it fell out on impact."

"Are you telling me that I need to tell McGee to pick up every twig in a thousand-meter radius of the crime scene?"

"Yup, I am!" Abby nodded, her black pigtails bouncing up and down.

"There's more, before you leave, Jethro!" Ducky called at the retreating back of his colleague.

"What didn't you tell me?"

"It's not what didn't I tell you, it's what I haven't told you yet."

"Which is, Duck?"

"We found dirt residue under the fingernails. You may be able to match it to a location."

"Thanks, Duck! Anything else?" Gibbs smiled a rare, genuine smile for Ducky and kissed Abby's cheek.

"Well, no, but--"

"But I have something!" the entire gathering turned around to see McGee, looking flustered and scared. "Gibbs, I've searched the whole building. Tony's not here. His car's out front, none of the cars are missing."

Gibbs's eyes grew cold and smoldering again. He took care not to scream at his agent. "Find him. _Fix it_!"

***

"Can I go in now?" the voice was quiet, begging for permission to see the woman who slept soundly on the other side of the door. "I've been waiting for an hour, Doctor. Look, I have identification. And my SIG, but I think you'd rather see the former."

A tall, blonde man dressed in classic white robes nodded. "I suppose we can allow a brief visit. Don't wake her up. We managed to reconstruct most of her bone but there may still be problems. The last thing we need is a panic attack. Don't touch her leg. If it gets infected, she's as good as dead."

"And if it doesn't…" the other man questioned, his green eyes soft and full of worry. He pushed a hand through his hair, flattening it against his skull piece by piece.

"I assure you, Special Agent DiNozzo, no one has died from an uninfected, treated gun shot wound to the leg. We removed the bullet. Your forensic specialist can pick it up for examination, or a keepsake. Whichever works." the doctor's attempt at a joke was met with a wry, tired smile. "Anyway, feel free to enter and stay for a while."

Tony's eyes followed the retreating doctor's form. He stood motionless in the hallway for several minutes, listening to his own pounding heart and the faint beep of the heart rate monitor inside the room. One Italian leather shoe at a time, he stepped up to the oak door. There were no windows. This would allow Ziva privacy, he reasoned. Something she would want. Something she had always wanted, though more specifically she had always hoped he would learn to keep his nose in his own business.

It was a slow, agonizing process, just turning the handle to enter the room. He closed it softly behind him and stopped to examine the scene before him. Expensive-looking medical equipment was cramped in every corner of the room, making various noises that he did not understand. Thankfully, there seemed to be no IVs that he could see, but the plainly displayed heart rate monitor increased his heart rate, at the very least. Slow, careful beeps. Slow, careful breaths.

He forced himself to take a seat in the armchair positioned directly at her side. For several minutes, the man said nothing. His green eyes bore into her closed chocolate brown ones, his hands anxiously clasped together in his lap. The heart rate monitor kept a steady stream of beeps, only adding to his already high level of anxiety. _Ziva will be okay_, he tried to tell himself, _she's asleep. You can see her eyes moving. Isn't that REM? I hope she's not reliving the shot…_

The last thought propelled him to reach forward in painfully slow motion and hold onto the arm closest to him. She jerked under his touch, his breath hitched, and she let out a light snore. Still sleeping soundly. Tony's thumb drew circles on her arm, trying to comfort himself more than her. "Ziva," his voice was barely audible. "My ninja. My partner. You were right. You're gonna be okay. They put your leg back together. But, oh, god… I should have been there. Now you'll have to walk on crutches. You'll have to have someone take care of you. You'll have to be doing desk duty. Damn, Ziva. You really had me worried. I screamed at McGee because of you, you know that? I was so worried. He told me we had nothing. I should have been there."

He startled at a warm hand that closed around his shoulder, but he didn't need to look up to know who it was. Gibbs stood, a conflicted half-smile on his face, above his sitting and his sleeping agents. The boss squeezed Tony's shoulder briefly, but did not let go.

"Ziva, you'll wake up soon," Tony assured her, looking up at his boss momentarily. "The doctor will be here when you do. With any luck, I'll be here to see you piss him off, just like you'd love to do. I should have been there, Ziva! Please. Please, damnit, if you can hear me…"

Not a sound or audible breath escaped her lips. Her chest just rose and fell slowly in reply. Tony's face fell, his eyes lost their warmth, and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

Anthony DiNozzo began to cry.


	4. Hey, Zeevah

**A/N: I feel bad for not updating, but you should like this. This is where you shall partially find out - no, you will find out why part of the plot is partially based on two lines of Mariana Trench's song Beside You, which I don't own. So here you go.**

**Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of the characters involved. I do own my alarm clock. It's annoying me.**

McGee managed an annoyed sigh as he carefully picked his way over the stones and sticks, trying to see anything unusual, but they were starting to all look the same. Stick, stick, stone, stick, stone. He sighed again and looked up from where he stood, staring at the ground, taking a moment just to stare around. This wasn't something he could usually do on the job, but right now he was alone. Gibbs. Gibbs was with Tony. Tony was… with Ziva, probably. Maybe they'd stay away for a while and he could happily do all of the looking-around that he wanted.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _Probably Gibbs. I should get back to work, _he thought in a somewhat fearful way, _Gibbs knows all._ His hands flew to read the text - _Okay, not Gibbs, Gibbs can't text. _Abby, of course. Not to update him. Probably to distract him again. He flipped the phone shut and tried to focus on the sticks again.

Same pattern. Stick, stick, stone, stick, stone. They were all the same. Malformed and ugly as hell. And each one of them had to get their own little evidence bag. He definitely didn't envy Abby - she'd have to survey each and every one of them very carefully - but then again, he **did **envy Tony. This had hit him hard so Gibbs wasn't going as hard on t hem as usual, at least not Tony. _Damn, DiNozzo._

Tired eyes still searched. Stick, malformed as all of them and clean. Twig, same as before. Stick, perfectly straight. Twig, dotted with blood. Wait. He backed up his train of thought and leaned forward to take a closer look. _Oh God. This is too small to have propped up the body, so that means…_

He carefully placed it in an evidence bag and took a few tentative steps forward, hand on his gun. There was more blood trail on the remaining twigs, leading off towards the house that Tony hadn't liked rather than the warehouse. Maybe there was "nobody home" because "nobody" was dead and they had somehow missed the blood. A flash of fear pierced him and he tried to push it away, knowing that by now, however long he would be Probie, he shouldn't be afraid of what he knew he would find. It just scared him, the thought that he might end up like Ziva. He might get to feel what it was like to have a white-hot bullet blow through your skin, and he might get to feel what it was like to hope, cling to the dying hope that maybe, just maybe, the shooter's aim was bad. He didn't want to end up like Ziva.

More importantly… he didn't want to end up like Kate. Could Gibbs even handle another Ari?

_Focus, McGee, _he reminded himself and moved forward. The blood was getting more obvious, it was crazy that they'd missed this. But maybe this body was more recent. Somehow, he hoped it wasn't so recent that the killer was still there. If it was the same man who shot Ziva. After all, they didn't know if the shooter'd said anything. Or confessed.

More blood. By now, he was almost at the door to the house and he could see a more than obvious pool of blood just sitting on the pavement. It made him sick. Was this a sign? Was this supposed to be taunting him? Cautiously, he stepped over the blood and placed a hand that was enveloped in a glove on the door. "Federal agents!" he yelled, trying his best to sound brave and following protocol. He received no answer.

The next move was clear to him. He swung the door open to find exactly what he'd expected…

"Gibbs, pick up the phone," he whispered feverishly as he called his boss. "Come on… Come on Boss, learn to use a cell… Gibbs! Gibbs, we have another body."

***

So quiet. He had never known anybody to manage to cry the way he was now, and he couldn't even figure out why he was crying. Ziva was alive. He knew this, Boss knew this, so why was he crying? Not for himself, that was for sure. But the warm tears kept coming no matter how hard he tried to stop them. God, he was tired of it all. Everything always had to be crazy, didn't it? Then again, he was a special agent. He worked for NCIS. He was a federal agent, and nobody every liked feds. That was obvious.

Gibbs stared down at Tony, hand not leaving his shoulder and just contemplated the thoughts that must be running, a mile a minute, through the younger man's head. Did he blame himself? He must blame himself, when really, it was more Gibbs's fault than anyone else's. They hadn't checked the perimeter. Suddenly, a loud ring shot through the silence and brought both him and his senior field agent back to earth. He let it ring a few times before finally slipping his hands into his pockets to remove the offender. McGee. Why would he be calling?

His hand left Tony and he turned into the hall to talk in hushed voices. They weren't supposed to have cellphones on anyway, but he'd managed. It wasn't like he was supposed to have his SIG in the hospital either. Funny, those rules never applied to someone like him... Gibbs flipped the phone open to hear McGee's rather frantic voice. "Another body." The words spoken rang through his clouded head. No way, they were sure there'd only been one. But his Probie didn't know how to lie. "Alright, McGee, I'll be there soon."

No more words needed. He flipped the phone shut and turned to leave, giving a nurse a rather scathing glance when she had come to apprehend him for use of a cellphone in a hospital.

Tony watched his boss leave, his thoughts finally straight enough to know that his partner was going to be fine. In fact, she seemed to be sleeping rather peacefully. He, on the other hand, was exhausted. Now was not the time to focus on himself. He'd let himself die of hunger for any of them. Except maybe McGee, and definitely not for Vance.

How he hated Vance... The director who could never replace Jenny.

He sighed and took sleeping Ziva's hand with a small smile. She looked so peaceful for once in her life, without a care in the world. That'd all change when she woke up, he knew. For now she was just sleeping to let her body heal and give herself the rest none of them really got but so badly needed.

Oh well. It was part of what they had to give to their jobs; besides total loyalty to Gibbs, they forfeited most weekends and many hours of sleep.

Tony was vaguely aware of quietly approaching footsteps, and he smiled a bit to himself. "Hey, Zee-vah, I think I'm picking up some of your ninja skills. I betcha that's the nurse coming to update me on your condition or something. That's not the sound Gibbs makes, and you... well, I know you're here so we're all good. You'll have to teach me more when you get outta here. I mean, somebody's gonna have to take care of you! I hope you don't mind me too much. Maybe."

"Very good agent DiNozzo," a feminine voice came from behind him. He turned to look at her as she continued. "Agent David needs her sleep and with you talking, she will not be able to get her proper rest. Visiting hours for you end... now. You need to leave. And get some rest, you look exhausted!"

He didn't want to leave, but she was right. He was exhausted. Sadly, he squeezed Ziva's hand one more time and gave her a lingering look before he left. Back to that bloodstained car. Tony vaguely wondered who'd have to pay for it to be cleaned. They couldn't charge Ziva the money for being shot, could they? No, that wasn't fair.

Only really vaguely aware of where he was, he stepped into the car and started it up. He smiled and waved at the nurse half-heartedly before backing out. It was time to go help Gibbs, they'd need him.

***

It kind of made him feel uneasy, surveying the evidence and taking pictures himself. Before Gibbs or Ducky was there. Maybe this was supposed to signal the end of his junior field agent status. Yeah, there was a way to look at it. McGee smiled and brought the camera to his eye again. A quick flash to light up the room again. This was pretty easy. Hey, maybe he could get his own team someday. But definitely not before Tony. That man had an ego that rivalled the stars in Hollywood (and he would have liked to know that, too, since he loved movies so much.)...

The crunch of gravel signalled the arrival of either Ducky or Gibbs. Probably Gibbs, but then again, Bethesda was farther away than NCIS.

"Mr. Palmer, McGee has already informed me that there is a body. Of course you need to bring the gurney." Of course, Ducky. The elderly man was standing on the porch, waiting for his assistant to remember what he was supposed to do. "Honestly, some days I worry about that boy. Ahh, McGee! Is this our lovely marine?"

"It is, Ducky. 24-year-old Petty Officer Kyle Williams." McGee flashed him a smile and continued taking pictures. His uneasiness had vanished the moment he'd heard Ducky's voice.

"Where's that boy? Mr. Palmer!" Ducky yelled. "Ah, there you are. Did you finally learn to - oh, Jethro! My apologies."

Gibbs stood where Ducky had expected his assistant to stand, with a small smile on his face. He nodded to his junior field agent and turned back to the medical examiner. "Time of death?"

"I only just got here, Jethro. You of all people should know that my art takes time to work. Ah, here we go. Mr. Palmer, liver probe. This should only take a moment..." he paused to wait for the temperature. "Well, judging by the temperature, our Petty Officer was killed quite recently. About two hours ago, which places him only dead thirty minutes after McGee discovered him and informed you and I. This is quite peculiar. Did you see anybody nearby?"

"No, Ducky," McGee said confidently, "But... this sounds stupid. I figured somebody was watching me. I just know I don't want to end up like Ziva. Or... or Kate."

An awkward silence followed his words. Nobody wanted to relive the shooting or meet another man who matched Ari Haswari. Funny, they knew somebody so like him and yet not. Ziva. Ziva, their faithful friend, lying in a hospital bed because it was her turn to get shot on the job. She definitely was not her brother.

And yet, there were similarities...

"Alright. McGee, bring the evidence to Abby. I'll stay here with Ducky." Gibbs spoke directly to the junior agent and nodded to himself. Yes, that seemed like an okay plan. Simple, yet productive. The team should be back on track as soon as DiNozzo managed to leave the hospital, and Ziva.

Or so it seemed until his phone rang and brought words that chilled him to the bone.

Again, the persistent ring. He sighed and reached for it, only vaguely realizing he was still wearing gloves. He flipped it open, not pausing this time and answered. "Special Agent Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, we need to inform you about your agent."

"David?"

"No, the other one. DiNozzo. He's been brought in."

"For what?" Oh God, oh God, he didn't want to know.

"His sedan was hit by a truck as he crossed an intersection. I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs."

The phone fell to the floor.


End file.
